


helter skelter

by painting



Series: Umbrella Academy [8]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Car rides, Caretaking, Diego's Apartment, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-03-08 06:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/painting/pseuds/painting
Summary: "Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing? This isn't the way to my--""No, it's not. You're coming to my place for a second.""Uh, okay." Klaus tugs at the seatbelt and runs his fingernail down its rugged outer edges, displaying his discomfort, probably without even realizing that he's doing it. "You mean your dungeon? Hope there's an occasion. Most guys usually take me out for a nice-- well, actually, not really, usually they don't. But you know, I'd think a strapping guy like you probably would.""Stop being weird.""You're the one kidnappingme,hermano."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> you know what people i just cant help myself. i am sitting pretty in the comfort zone of a dialogue-heavy sickfic and we are all just going to have to deal with that

"Where are _you_ even headed at this time of night, anyway? Past curfew, Diego? Must be somewhere special."

"Nope." Diego closes the door to the conversation. "Nowhere special."

It hasn't been long enough since he saw Klaus for Diego to forget how much trying to close him out doesn't work, but he's still taken aback as Klaus freely and comfortably jiggles the knob.

"Ohhh, are you coming _back_ from somewhere special?" he pries, clicking his seatbelt across his chest despite having been in the car for at least ten minutes already. Diego doesn't know how he didn't notice that Klaus wasn't wearing it. "That makes so much more sense, because I know you weren't fighting off rogue crimes or whatever. Do you still do that? That shirt is way too nice for such an activity."

Diego does everything but flinch at the reminder of how tight the stiff, pressed cotton feels around his neck, like two sheets of cardboard battling to smack his Adam's apple every time he speaks. He's only driving now and cushioned in the privacy of his own personal space, so he could unbutton it if he wants, he realizes, but messing with it would demonstrate to Klaus that his words have even a semblance of power over him. For now, Diego keeps both hands on the wheel. 

"I can save lives no matter what I'm wearing," he says in a futile effort to deflect and then misses his turn. "My clothes have nothing to do with my accuracy."

"Yeah, okay, but you hate dressing up. So where did you go?"

Diego keeps his mouth shut and gaze fixed, knowing the silence will oppress Klaus in under five seconds and he'll find something new he wants to talk about.

"Oh my God, do you remember the criminal justice banquet?" Well, sort of new, but hopefully this topic is a safe enough distance away from Diego's Sunday night plans. Klaus always likes talking about parties. "Dad made you wear a bow tie and everything, you were so pissed off." 

"You were pissed off too," Diego reminds him as the claustrophobic constraints around his nervous system start to go slack. This is fine, memory lane with Klaus isn't so bad. "You wanted to switch outfits with Allison so Dad said--"

"Yeah, he said, 'stop this nonsense at _once,_ Number Four, I won't have any more of it!' and then he made some _threats_ , oh I remember," Klaus quotes bitterly while Diego expertly pulls off an illegal U-turn. "What a prick. Allison got to choose her dress and everything, but the rest of us had to practically look identical like a bunch of fools. And the suits he gave us were atrocious; mine didn't even fit right."

"Nothing fit right, you were all gangly. You had weird measurements."

He still kind of does. Klaus is plenty tall but always looks like he's about to blow away, even when the air around him is still and breezeless. The disorganized fluidity of his erratic movements constantly seem to almost knock him down all on their own.

"I had _perfect_ measurements!" he admonishes, passion cracking his voice. "Tell me you're not defending the old bastard."

"God, no. That whole thing was so stupid, he didn't even let anybody talk to us."

"Uh, correction: he didn't let anybody talk to _you._ I schmoozed my way into taking the chancellor's son's first kiss, if you must know, Diego, okay? The rest of us got to do as we pleased. You just couldn't be trusted to keep your lid on, you wild thing, you."

Diego frowns. "Says the guy who was born without a lid."

"That's not a problem for me, man, I'm not always at risk of boiling over like you are. My waters are calm."

"What?"

"You were the one who decided to make analogies out of my idiom, brother Dear."

He's got him there, whoops. Diego's silence shines light on his brother's victory, and Klaus decides to take his prize by reaching for the radio dial.

"No freeform stations," Diego says.

"Yeah, yeah. Of course not. I know you can't handle the excitement." Klaus switches through the channels, hanging onto most songs for several seconds and even longer on commercials, until he settles on a station furnished with an uninterrupted marathon of R&B. "This okay?"

"Yeah, this one's good." Diego says.

"Cool."

They sit with it for a moment while the rhythmic bass and pentatonic scales vibrate along the car's tight walls and sleek upholstery. Diego keeps getting short wallops of satisfaction when he's able to stop or start the motion of his car in rhythm with the beats, but it's not stimulating enough for his mood and having Klaus in his car makes the space feel empty without any conversation. 

"So how long you been sick?" he asks.

"Whoa," Klaus says, then he abruptly releases this chafing, merciless cough that seems to have slipped through the moment he was caught off guard and given permission to display his truth. "Yikes, third degree all of a sudden? What makes you think I'm sick?"

"Well, definitely _that,_ Klaus, Jesus Christ."

"Okay." Klaus clears his throat. "But _you_ just met that cough. What else?"

Diego shrugs. He's a hero, not a doctor.

"Your voice is all scratchy," he describes with as much nonchalance as he can manage, "and nasally like you're getting a cold or something."

"Could just be from my rock 'n' roll lifestyle."

"I've seen you go down with shit before, Klaus, I know what it looks like," Diego says. Klaus had asked Diego to drop him off into the night when he found him fifteen minutes ago and Diego's not going to feel right about it unless he addresses this first. "And you don't even have a smoker's cough, though I have no idea how that's even possible."

"Lucky body, I guess. Beautiful _and_ strong."

"Obviously not so much."

"Show mercy to the sick and dying, Diego."

Klaus hates sincerity, so his exaggerating means he's probably not too badly off, but it doesn't matter because Diego hasn't been able to trust Klaus nor his own intuition lately and the lack of information is going to put him on edge. "Can I get an answer, Tiny Tim?"

"No. Hey, I heard Luther's gonna go up in the air next year, though, that's pretty crazy. You seen him or Dad lately?"

It's like he pressed a button that squeezes something hot and reactive inside of Diego, which he definitely knows about and had hit on purpose with practiced precision, but in the moment it doesn't really change anything. Klaus is good and he knows it. 

"No way. Fuck him," Diego says without even thinking.

"Yeah, totally."

"As soon as we got too old to be his guinea pigs and too strong to be his servants, he hasn't offered us an ounce of welfare. But he sends trusty old Number One into space."

"Yeah! Totally."

"Vanya graduated on scholarship and I know he hasn't reached out to you."

Klaus chuckles like Diego's just said something delightful. "Oh, _wow._ Could you imagine? I don't even think he knows where to find me--"

" _No one_ knows where to find you, Klaus."

"--unless he put a tracking device under my skin while he was measuring my brain waves. Oh no, do you think?"

His enthusiastic sarcasm cools Diego down. It's difficult to tell whether Klaus is sidetracking because he doesn't like talking about anything he can't make a joke out of, or if something really is wrong and he doesn't want to be fussed over or put under a microscope for it. His behavior only deviates slightly between each situation and even then, he can sometimes be unpredictable like a thunderstorm in May.

Klaus has got the energy and clarity of mind to twist the conversation using the complicated understanding of Diego's history and particularities, at least, which means he probably isn't feeling too terribly ill and that gives Diego a faint curve toward peace.

"When did your throat start bothering you?"

"Aw, _come on,_ this again? I thought I had you."

Diego looks over at him.

"Oh, I don't know! It's hard to keep track of that sort of thing," Klaus admits, which, never mind, doesn't sound good at all. "Not very long ago, I don't think, maybe like a day or two."

"You don't even remember?"

"Nah, it's not that bad, so I'm not really paying attention."

And Diego has his answer. That isn't safe. If he develops a secondary infection-- which is likely, given how insistent Klaus is on not watching out for himself-- he's not going to realize if that does happen or take any precautions to keep it from getting worse. Despite the baseline state of his immune system, his body is surprisingly resilient for someone who eats, sleeps, and exercises so sparingly, but all of the shit he puts it through will continue to catch up with him eventually without anyone to do something about it.

The most frustrating part of it is that Diego _knows_ that Klaus has a pretty solid grasp on all the methods best used nurse a cold, but like everything else that might do him any good, he throws it to the wayside so ruthlessly that it almost seems like he's doing it on purpose. From what he knows about Klaus, Diego can wager that it's more from carelessness than anything, but the effects are the same regardless of intent. Klaus never gives anyone the pleasure of guaranteeing his own well-being.

"Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing? This isn't the way to my--"

"No, it's not. You're coming to my place for a second."

"Uh, okay." Klaus tugs at the seatbelt and runs his fingernail down its rugged outer edges, displaying his discomfort, probably without even realizing that he's doing it. "You mean your dungeon? Hope there's an occasion. Most guys usually take me out for a nice-- well, actually, not really, usually they don't. But you know, I'd think a strapping guy like you probably would."

"Stop being weird."

"You're the one kidnapping _me,_ hermano."

"Dude, you sound horrible," Diego says instead of taking the bait. Talking this much can't be doing Klaus any favors, but he doesn't seem very tired for quarter to midnight. Being sick always zaps his normally relentless energy at least a little, so maybe two days was correct and it hasn't been very long for him after all. "What are you on right now?"

"Hmm. You're not going to tell the teacher on me, are you, Diego?"

"You're in my car, so I'm the teacher," Diego says. Klaus is driving him nuts. "What did you take today?"

"Well," Klaus says, "uppers are ah- _mazing_ decongestants, but my guy was absolutely barren, go figure, you know, and my backup has gone fuckin' AWOL, so I'm cruising on a slice of coffee cake _de Indica_ and a gigantic hot toddy. Minus the heat and the honey."

That's not as bad as Diego was expecting, at least in one respect. Klaus seems more present than he was when they saw each other last, which is actually not a good sign considering he's still got plenty of shit going through his system with the addition of whatever bug he's starting to come down with. He must be learning how to really mask all sorts of impairments, even more so than he could with the already impressive capability he'd developed before. 

That's unnerving, and it's too much to think about right now.

"How many dealers do you even have?" Diego asks next because he needs to and almost runs a red light.

"Wouldn't you like to know, you big narc," Klaus says. "Just kidding. I know you won't tell. There are just a few guys scattered around on the south side kinda by the river, and this one really nice lady downtown, but she is _hard_ to get a hold of. Haven't seen her in a while. I bet she'd give me cough syrup on discount if I could track her down, she did that last time."

Christ. "If you were clean you wouldn't get sick so much."

"What are you talking about? The last time I got sick was like eight months ago," Klaus says. Diego remembers; it was a nasty case of bronchitis and he'd only found out about it when Klaus called him way too late into the endeavor and asked him to break into the house to steal him an albuterol inhaler. It had probably started out as a cold just like this one. 

"I haven't been sick in at least two years," Diego reports comparatively. Even then, he was back in the game after just a couple days as his immune system did its job.

"That's because you're a freak."

"I hope Ben's at least giving you shit for not taking care of yourself." If he's even there. Klaus has mentioned him a few times, _Ben says this_ and _Ben says that,_ but it's impossible to tell whether he's teasing them about their understanding of the way his powers work or having grief-induced hallucinations or using "Ben" as a puppet to communicate things he doesn't want to say are coming from himself.

"Oh, he is, trust me," Klaus says. "You're like twin devils on both my shoulders."

"Why devils?"

"Because you're annoying."

"The devil's evil, not annoying."

"No. I know evil." Klaus sighs hugely like he's making a point, even though he probably isn't. "Annoying's worse."

The cough that punches out of him is dry and irritated and probably what's making him sound so hoarse. Klaus clears his throat afterward and then thumps back against the seat.

"God," he says. "Sorry."

"Sounds painful," Diego comments instead of saying  _it's okay,_ because obviously it's okay. He takes a shortcut down the alley.

Klaus coughs again, shortly, before he lowers his fist. "Yeah, a little," he admits. "Mostly just tickles. Which is also annoying."

The whole thing seems a bit self-inflicted, in Diego's opinion, but Klaus is his brother and he can't help the sympathy spreading through him from his gut. Klaus isn't going to admit it if anything actually is bothering him, which Diego can't stand because it makes him easy to worry about and impossible to protect.

He's out of the car before Diego even kills the engine, leaning back against his own closed door as he faces the gym. His arms are wrapped around himself and Diego says, "Dude, put your coat on, are you serious?" and turns the key to lock up.

"No, it's so heavy," Klaus complains, then slumps back like he feels that way about his entire body, too. "We're about to go inside anyway, whatever. You're not wearing one either."

"I'm not sick," Diego argues. "Or high."

"Sucks to be you," Klaus says, then he spins off of the car with his arms straight out so he can follow Diego to the doors. There are a couple of guys standing outside even though all the action has to be over by now, and after Diego nods hello he has to grab onto Klaus to keep him from dawdling. He'd already started waving dangerously at the two of them with just his fingers and was no doubt about to start a conversation if not for Diego's supervision.

Klaus is unsteady on his feet as usual, his grasps for balance masquerading as friendliness, but Diego picks his battles and pretends Klaus keeps putting his arm around him only because he's excited to point out what he perceives as new additions to the ring that nobody's updated in decades. Having Klaus so close to him isn't entirely unpleasant, not because of the physical sensation but instead due to the reminder that his brother is solid and upright and still in one piece. He smells like men's deodorant and the candle aisle at a department store.

Just before they reach the hallway leading down to the stairs, Klaus lets go of Diego to turn away and cough toward his shoulder, and they need to stop. Diego doesn't let go just in case.

"You good?"

"Yup. Are you good?"

The ricochet is a deflection, so Diego doesn't answer. Without argument, Klaus lets him haul his big mouth and shivery limbs down the dim and narrow staircase leading into his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think one of the first things i ever thought when i watched this show was "i hope diego would force klaus to sleep at his place in the boiler room if they ran into each other and klaus wasn't feeling well"


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Klaus does when Diego invites him into his home is insult it.

"There is _so much dust_ in here, Diego, do you ever _clean?_ I mean like at all?"

"You are so full of shit. The lights are off," Diego says. For someone who's never had a place of his own, Klaus is surprisingly persnickety about those sorts of things. His bedroom at home, back when he lived there, had also constantly rested at a state of remarkable disarray, so Diego isn't sure where that comes from. "You can't even see how much dust there is."

"Ugh, I can _feel_ _it,_ Diego, that's how much of it you've so neglectfully authorized to build up all over your belongings. I can't smell anything; have you been humbly assembling a domesticated field of mildew, as well?"

"Enough, Monica, chill out," Diego says, offended. He flips on the lights and leads the way down the stairs, head turned to make sure Klaus doesn't trip as he swoops after him. "It's aired out just fine. I turn on that fan in the window every once in a while."

"That doesn't sound at all promising. You didn't even warn me, what if I'm allergic?"

"You're not allergic to mildew."

"You don't know that."

"I do know that." Diego immediately breathes easier after unbuttoning the collar of his shirt. He empties his pockets next, setting his wallet and keys down on the utility table. He reaches up for the metal lamp clipped onto the shelf above him and switches it on without squinting.

Klaus doesn't bother untying his shoes before he takes them off, then pours himself on the chair between Diego's desk and dresser, coat over his lap like it's a gigantic velveted dinner napkin. "That guy out front thinks you're cute, you know," he says as he curls up his legs, morphing his coat into a tent pitched at his knees. "The one with the red jacket? Do you ever talk to him?"

Diego has no idea what Klaus is trying to do, so he says, "No he doesn't."

"Yes, Casanova. I saw. He smiled at you like…" Klaus tilts up one side of his mouth and looks at Diego through his eyelashes. "You know. Oh, I get it. Are you _seeing_ anyone right now? No? You should ask him to hang out," Klaus insists. "Uh, what is this?"

He holds up the shirt Diego has just tossed at him, which he'd flinched at but didn't catch in time. Klaus fondles the bundle of dark honeycomb fabric in his chapped fists, then drapes it over one of his arms and moves it steadily up and down like he's weighing it.

"You don't have any sleeves, dumbass," Diego explains. "We haven't turned the heat on in the building yet."

"Wait," Klaus says as he slips through the neck hole, his head too narrow to stretch it even with his hair grown all crazy like that, then lets the arms splay across his shoulders before he finishes cozying himself. "Don't tell me all you own are turtlenecks?" He slips his right arm through and points at Diego with the left. "Is that the only thing you own that isn't a turtleneck?"

The light of the microwave shyly broods in the corner-kitchen like a glowing wallflower as it whirrs on to heat up the water Diego has harvested from the sink. He bends down to grab a box of generic Lipton decaf from the lower shelf of his doorless cabinet and finds that he'll be giving Klaus one of the last three bags. They weren't very good, so he probably isn't going to buy any more. 

Diego opts not to discuss wardrobe with his brother. It's none of his business, anyway.

"You eat yet?"

"Don't get me wrong, it's not like it doesn't suit you. The metallic buttons make your eyes sparkle."

"All right, got it, that's a no."

Klaus sighs. "Ughhhhh. I _did_ eat, I already told you."

"An edible isn't dinner, Klaus."

"What was I supposed to do? I couldn't _smoke_ anything, my throat is killing me."

"Wh-- A _joint_ isn't dinner, either."

"Says you." Though at least now Diego's got him closer to being forthright about how he's feeling, and Diego hopes he's being honest about the reason he'd chosen not to smoke. It's not a lot, in the grand scheme of steps Klaus takes toward taking care of himself, but at least it's something. 

Klaus takes the cup from Diego, the teabag steadily flooding an infusion of earthy flavor into the water. He immediately bounces the string up and down, steeping the leaves hastily and efficiently. 

"Nice," he says. "I didn't know you drank tea."

Diego shrugs and says, "Not like you do." 

"No caffeine, huh?"

"It's almost midnight."

"I guess," Klaus says. "I'm not hungry anyway. Were you trying to feed me dinner?"

"Just asking," Diego replies as he realizes his pantry-shelf is basically empty anyway, and his fridge is adorned only with a box of baking soda and a carton of eggs that he can't cook without a stove (and he doubts Klaus would eat one raw). He's still full from his own evening meal and it's too early to think about breakfast.

Klaus folds his arms over his knees and lays his head down on top of them, ear resting against the bent crook of his elbow before he turns his head inward and jerks shakily with a sneeze. He waits a moment before repeating himself at a slightly higher volume.

Diego decides that it's time for him to move, so he scans back of his space to retrieve the furniture to get Klaus set up for the night.

"Bless you," he says before he heads over.

"Thanks."

As he takes down the couch he's currently got tilted upward and facing the back wall, Diego says, "You're lucky." He pulls it closer to the living area, knowing without looking at him that Klaus is cringing at the way the legs scrape against the floor. "I'm only a couple days out from getting rid of this. It's taking up too much space."

"…You need any help?" Klaus asks.

Diego humiliates himself by stumbling, the metal legs of the folding couch clanging against the hard ground before he defeatedly says, "Shit. Yeah, would you mind?"

"Yup," Klaus says, then he says, "wait, " and sneezes breathlessly, twice, vocal and impatient.

"Bless you," Diego says again.

"Fuuuuuck me. Thank you." Klaus stands up and says, "Hope you like listening to that. I don't think it's going to stop."

Together, they manage to lift and place and unfold the couch over by the table set up near Diego's own bed. He grabs an extra blanket -- the warmer one, thick green fleece -- and hands it to Klaus, who immediately wraps it over his shoulders and purposefully swoons onto the couch.

"Warm enough?" Diego asks.

"Guess we'll see," Klaus says, then ducks his head to cough. "You going out tonight? Doing a little…?" He makes circles with each thumb and pointer finger, then holds them up over his eyes to emulate a mask.

Before he can stop himself, Diego says, "Why would I bring you here to keep an eye on you if I was just going to leave you by yourself?"

He doesn't trust Klaus alone in his apartment, either, but he's not in the mood to fight about that and isn't sure if Klaus even has the stamina.

He takes just a moment to entertain and decide against the idea.

Before Diego can employ his sharp and nimble reflexes, the calm of Eudora's voice seeps through the door and the empty air in the ceiling as she says, "Diego."

It's not a question, not a warning, and not an announcement. She knows he's home and now she knows he's knows it's her at the door.

Just in case, he's still careful and quick-footed up the steps. No one's behind her when he opens up. Diego grins.

"Hi," he says.

"You forgot your…" She frowns and looks past him, tilts her body and surveys what little of his living space is within her eye's reach. "What the hell?"

"What?"

"You have company…?"

Diego twists around to follow her eye line and arrives at the sight of his brother's coat in a wrinkled pile hanging off of the chair he'd left it on. The size, pieces of shimmering material, and fur lining the edges of the garment exist as a proclamation that it absolutely must belong to a guest. He supposes he can't blame her for spotting it, the flashy, flamboyant catch of the fabric standing out among the matte and geometric furnishings in the rest of his apartment.

Eudora steps forward, so Diego steps aside. 

"My brother's just staying here for the night," he tells her. "He's…"

" _Yes,_ who's this?" calls Klaus as soon as he's able, interrupting without chagrin. "Hello. Gosh, _Diego,_ forget all that bullshit I said earlier, _she's_ very pretty. If you need I can verrrry happily get out of your hair for the evening, so just say the word and I…"

"Sit back down," Diego says, only because he can't push Klaus back onto the couch himself. To Eudora, he says, "He's not feeling well and needed a warm place to crash, that's all." 

"I'm assuming this is the brother you're always asking me to check for?"

"Aw, Diego, are you really? How sweet."

Diego drags a hand down his face.

Eudora leans forward but doesn't descend down the stairs. "Are you okay?" she asks Klaus.

"It's just a cold," Diego says.

"This isn't really what I'd call a 'warm place to crash'," Eudora chides. "It's almost thirty out. I don't like _you_ sleeping down here without the heat on, either. It's freezing for a boiler room."

If she'd said so a few hours ago, Diego would have suggested she invite him back to hers, but Klaus is in the room so all he can say is, "Yeah, well… this isn't about me."

"I'm splendid, by the way," Klaus pipes up from the couch. "I know you were asking me and not my worrywart brooding big brother."

"You're the same age, aren't you?" Eudora asks Diego.

"Sometimes I forget."

When Klaus buckles forward to cough, Eudora crosses her arms and frowns.

"Diego," she says, turning her head toward him, "where is your brother going to sleep?"

Diego moves his eyes from Eudora's over to the couch.

"Only the most stylish accommodations for yours truly," Klaus says. "Diego's such a prince."

Eudora doesn't acknowledge him or his batting eyelashes. "It's two feet shorter than he is," she says to Diego with disapproval.

"And nicer than anywhere I've crashed over the past couple of months, thank you very much," Klaus adds. "I have a clean blanket and my own bed and everything, I don't even have to share or do any favors or…"

Eudora sighs, exasperated, and takes hold of Diego's arm.

"I have a guest room," she reminds him as though Diego should have considered bringing Klaus to her place to rest for the night instead of a shelter or something. 

"You serious?" he asks.

"Yes," she says. "You've seen--"

"Klaus, come on," Diego interrupts without needing to throw his voice, not necessarily excited about his brother knowing any further details about his romantic life despite his impending bed-sharing with their Sunday-night host. "Change of plans."

Klaus gets up readily, though he isn't necessarily quick about it and he makes a noise from his throat that resonates out through his nose in a grating, non-verbal complaint about having to move so much. "First you confine me to the soot of your dwellings," he says as he grabs his coat from the chair and doesn't put it on, "and just as I start to get comfortable, you decide we're going to-- Oh, hi, that's right, what was your name?"

Eudora, at least, seems amused instead of horrified or suspicious like she would be with any other strung-out, homeless criminal. Klaus does that to people. 

With a tight smirk and guarded warmth in her eyes, she says, "Eudora Patch."

As he reaches the top of the stairs, Klaus grabs her hand despite her not offering it and takes it in both of his. "I'm sure your place is very lovely," he says. "My brother… is _quite_ a lucky man."

Klaus raids Diego's glove compartment on the way over to Eudora's. His nose had started running almost as soon as they got in the car -- from the change in temperature, probably; sometimes that gets him, though right now it could easily be from whatever bug his body is starting to fight -- and Diego's insistence that he use one of the napkins he has stowed away had resulted only in a twenty-questions treasure hunt for Klaus, who still has yet to blow his nose.

"Why do you have a manual for another person's car?" he asks. "You don't even have one for this car."

Klaus is chatty when his head's clear as crystal, but there's something very specific about the way he runs his mouth when he's impaired, almost like he thinks he's going to implode if he so much as _tries_ to shut up. Every last observation gets a comment, and if nobody responds, then he's onto the next thing until somebody replies to him in a way that's engaging enough for his inch-long inebriated attention span.

That might be why he's starting to run his voice out so quickly. He didn't sound great when Diego had picked him up a couple hours ago, but instead of seeming like he's simply coming down with something, he now sounds like he's been ill for days and meant to be bed-ridden.

"That's my business, not yours," Diego replies. Over Klaus' mimicking, he says, "Stop messing with the thermostat. Are you cold?"

"I'm _hot,_ you turned it up too high," Klaus complains.

"Because you won't zip up your jacket."

"Oh my God. Who has the time."

His shoulders twitch with a shiver as he steps outside, despite all of Diego's pleading, but Diego doesn't bother chiding him because it's not going to make a difference and the walk from the car to the apartment is only a few steps long. The wind steals a flurry of napkins from Klaus, the papers flying from the pockets of his open coat, and Diego picks them up when Klaus doesn't notice as though his brother could be his son.

"I have some NyQuil in the bathroom," Eudora offers as they're slipping off their shoes after coming inside. "It sounds like you could use…"

"No," answers Diego for him.

"Come _on,_ Diego--"

"You're already so strung out that I doubt you could feel a difference anyway."

Klaus rolls his eyes and says, "I'm not gonna be able to get to sleep without a little something."

"You'll manage."

"You sure you want to go out with someone who hates a good time this much?" Klaus asks Eudora. "I know he's cute, but he's not going to get less boring. Trust me."

Diego sets an example by ignoring him. "Do you have a thermometer?"

Eudora says, "Follow me."

Miraculously and probably not for very long, Klaus rests under a hundred degrees. He uses the reading to get Diego off his back and head to bed, but Diego and Eudora can both hear his cold and all of its bells and whistles through the wall between the two bedrooms. He didn't bring anything with him and the room is mostly bare, so it's hard to imagine what he might be doing in there. Diego, by now, is too tired to think about it.

Klaus is warm, he's clothed, and he's settled within the safety of four legal walls for the night. That's enough to put Diego at ease until after the sun comes up.

And once it does, he and Eudora find the back door ajar and the medicine cabinet and lock box left completely empty. Neither one of them bothers to write a report.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the way everyone was so burnt out on and mistrustful of klaus by the time they were all 30 made me wonder how many times he'd stolen from them and betrayed them and let them down


End file.
